"That'll have to do for now," said Vasquez. "You heard the boss. We need to get down into the southern part of the spindle. Follow me! Now!"
The remaining members of the security team followed Vasquez as they made their way over to the hatch and the ladder that lead to the next level southward in the spindle. He ran his master security card through the reader on the wall and spun the wheel to open the hatch. He motioned his group to head downward, then followed and closed the hatch behind him. This migration placed them all in the northern portion of the main power generation and distribution area. Within this area, a handful of technicians were usually manning a bank of control consoles for the main power plant. At the moment, they were all gathered around a viewscreen, watching events unfold.
"Quick!" he said, urgency in his voice. "Someone find me a bar or a pipe to jam this hatch with. The security lock should hold them for a while but we need to do something to keep them out of here, permanently, if we can."
"Norbert, find something for Sal to block that hatch with," bellowed Jane Tresham, the head technician for the current shift.
Hal Norbert disappeared down another shaft on the far side of the room.
"What in hell is going on, Sal?" said Tresham, a large, muscular woman with short, dark hair.
"Two ships attacked us and the Boise with beam weapons. They totally hammered the Boise and now they're getting ready to board the station."
"What're we gonna do?"
"We're gonna jam this hatch and hope they haven't got cutting equipment or high explosives. Harmon said to hold out down here for as long as we can. We couldn't defend the airlock receiving area, but if we make it hard enough for them to get through this hatch, maybe they'll just leave us alone, at least for a while."
Norbert came back from below with a couple of short lengths of pipe, a handful of clamps, and a powered wrench to tighten the clamps with.
"Let me up there, Sal, and I'll make sure they won't be able to work this door at all. Hold this stuff and hand it to me when I ask for it."
Vazquez took the armload of materials and moved out of the man's way. He handed up pipes and clamps as they were requested. The group felt a slight vibration indicating that the main airlock door was operating. With the hatch above them locked down, they could just barely hear the alarm.
"There," said Norbert, "that ought to hold 'em!"
Vasquez inspected the job and agreed. Two pipes were securely clamped onto different spokes on the hatch wheel mechanism and jammed against the ladder.
"Now what?" asked Tresham.
"Can you cut power to the spoke elevators?"
"Yeah, no problem. Elevators are on this board over here."
"Harmon said five minutes, but I say that's too long. Shut 'em down now. If these guys want to get to the wheel, they're gonna have to do it the hard way."
Tresham cut the power to the spoke elevators.
"What's next?"
"Now we wait and see what happens. There's a good chance that whoever these guys are, they don't know all that much about the inner workings of a space station. We can make their lives pretty miserable if we can keep them out of here."
"What do you think they want?"
"My guess is that they want to get to the governor, kill him or take him hostage and take control of the station. I don't envy Harmon!"
Chapter 16
New Ceylon Orbital Station, Deck One, October 6, 2598.
Kresge put his hand on the palm reader by the door to his temporary quarters and dashed into the room as soon as the door opened. He grabbed his computer and a few other items and threw them into his attaché case which already contained his pulse pistol. He looked around the room to see if there was anything else he should be taking and spotted his dress uniform in the wardrobe.
"Probably won't be needing that for a while."
"What in heaven's name is going on, Oskar?" Irene had followed him without question as they left the restaurant but at the moment she looked frightened. He took her in his arms and held her tightly for a few moments.
"I...I don't know, but I intend to find out. Don't worry, you're safe with me."
She brightened up a little. "Where should we go?"
"Outward. I'd say all the way to the outer deck. Whoever these attackers are, they'll be boarding at the north end of the spindle through the main airlock and working their way out from there. With two cargo ships, there could be quite a few of them; we won't know how many until they've boarded. Thank God it's a big station! That's why I say we go out to deck five. There's hardly anyone out there and there's a lot of places to hide. Have you been down that far?"
"No more than just a few times. There hasn't been much reason. It's mostly unoccupied because the station is so far below capacity."
"That's just what we want. Do you need anything?"
"Nothing I'd risk going all the way back to my apartment for!" she answered. "I have few things in my purse. I'll be alright, I'm with you." He could see the trust in her eyes.
"Okay, let's get off from this deck. I know that there're eight main stairwells, what about elevators?"
"There're also eight main elevators within the wheel. The spoke elevators are separate."
"We'll have to see if we can get control of them."
The chaos of a few hours ago was nothing compared to the pandemonium they encountered as they made their way through the confusion to the nearest of the eight main stairwells. People seemed to be either frozen in shock or else they were dashing about aimlessly. The alarm system continued to blare out its warning pulses, adding to the general confusion. Two people dressed in gray maintenance coveralls, a man and a woman who were watching the bedlam more or less calmly, spotted his uniform.
"Hey Captain, you got any idea what the hell is goin' on?" called out the male of the pair, a small, spare man with short but very red hair who looked be in his mid-forties. His companion was a sturdy woman of about the same age with blonde hair and brown eyes.
Kresge stopped and allowed them to approach.
"No offense...Steuben," he read the name on the man's coverall, "but it's Commander, not Captain."
"Yeah, sure, I've seen you on the video. You're the guy from the Scrapyard. Maggie, this is the Scrapyard guy." Then he recognized Irene.
"Wow! And you're the cabinet lady. Do you folks have some kind of plan?"
"Not really," admitted Kresge, "Whoever is attacking will most likely board at the spindle and make their way outward from there. My guess is that there'll probably be little if any resistance to boarding; the security forces here aren't equipped for invaders. We figured we'd head towards the outer rim and maybe find a place to hide until we have a better idea of what's going on. If we can avoid being captured, maybe we can get some kind of resistance going, once we find out what we're up against."
At that moment the alarms cut off and an announcement came over the public address system. A viewscreen in the hallway showed a bust of Governor Larkin. He looked disheveled and hollow-eyed, far different from his normally sleek public persona. There was a mark -- it looked like a bruise -- on his right cheek.
"Attention all station personnel. Attention all station personnel. This is an emergency message. All station occupants and visitors are to report to their quarters immediately and wait there for further instructions. I repeat: All station occupants and visitors are to report to their quarters immediately and wait there for further instructions. Commander Oskar Kresge and Under-Secretary Irene Marshall are ordered to report to the governor's suite immediately!"
"It'll be a cold day in hell!" said Kresge.
Steuben looked conflicted for a few moments before seeming to come to a decision. "We can help, I think...We know a place... Maggie? Stay here for a little longer and bring anybody else who looks like they'd be useful."
"Okay, Steuben, but I'm only waitin' another five minutes."
"Is there any way that we can disable these elevators?" asked Kresge, pointing to the main elev
ator next to the stairwell. The door to the elevator was open.
"They would have stopped working when the emergency alarms went off. Occupied or not, a moving elevator cab would've just stopped on the next floor up or down and the doors would've opened."
"Who decides when they begin working again?"
"Any of the maintenance foremen can override the emergency default."
"Where can we find one?"
"Should be one or two of them where we're goin'. You ready, Captain?"
"Commander... Oh hell, I won't argue with you, lead the way," said Kresge.
"You're right about deck five," said Steuben as they headed down the stairs. "There's hardly anyone down that far. Hell, most of the security cameras haven't even been connected. Most of the ones that were have been disabled. You could hide out down there for months and no one would find you!"
"Let's hope that we don't have to wait that long!" said Kresge.
The trio went down to the next landing where Steuben used a palm reader to open the door to a maintenance area and motioned them inside. He went to a short row of shelves and selected two pairs of maintenance coveralls identical to the ones he was wearing.
"Put these on," he said, as he handed them to Kresge and Irene. "You'll draw way too much attention in those outfits."
They both did as they were directed, the coveralls Steuben had selected for them fitting easily over their clothing. They left the maintenance room and descended the remaining four flights of stairs to the very outermost level. There were small groups of people in near panic milling about at each landing, trying to decide what to do. Steuben nodded to several other people in maintenance coveralls that were waiting on the landings and, after telling any bewildered civilians to go back to their quarters, they continued their retreat. By the time they reached deck five, their group had grown to nine people.
"This way, stay close, it'll get dark in just a few minutes," said Steuben.
He wasn't kidding. The station, like all space constructions that housed people, was divided up into airtight compartments with bulkhead doors that closed automatically when a hull breach was detected or when danger was imminent. These doors had locked down when the alarms went off. Their guide used his custodial key card on the nearest of these large bulkhead doors and ushered the group through. Immediately upon closing the door behind them, the group found itself in pitch-black conditions. A hand torch appeared from somewhere and the group continued down a corridor. Stueben used his custodial card on several other doors marked "authorized personnel only" that were normally kept locked to the public. In spite of a superb sense of direction, Kresge was disoriented within the first few minutes. He couldn't help but wonder what he and Irene would have done if the maintenance people hadn't found the two of them when they did. Finally they went through another airtight bulkhead door and came out in a short corridor lit by soft emergency lighting. Steuben went to what appeared to be a solid wall panel in the corridor and, after working some kind of hidden mechanism, slid the panel open and motioned them inside.
"In here, quickly."
They all stooped and filed through the short, narrow opening into yet another narrow corridor and were plunged into darkness again as Steuben closed the hidden entrance behind them. After walking for a few more minutes, they finally took a sharp turn to the right and came out into a large room with a low ceiling. The room, also lit by soft emergency lighting, was long and narrow; both walls were lined with a jumbled assortment of boxes and crates of various sizes, some of them open and some of them not. A few utility tables and folding chairs were scattered randomly through the room. A fairly large group, somewhere around thirty people, was gathered in an open space in the middle of the room. A tall, barrel-chested, dark-haired man -- Kresge made him to be about fifty years old -- called out to them.
"Steuben? Is that you Steuben? Thank God! Where's Maggie?"
"She was gonna wait another five minutes. She shouldn't be far behind."
"Who else have you brought?"
As the man recognized more of the newcomers, he greeted several people by name. "Takahashi...Engels... glad you made it."
He looked at Irene and then at Kresge, who had just finished shedding their maintenance coveralls. His eyes narrowed. "Are you two who you I think you are?"
"I'm afraid so, this is Irene Marshall, Under-Secretary of Commerce for the orbital station and I'm Commander Oskar Kresge, commanding officer of the Scrapyard."
"Christ, Steuben! What in the hell did you bring these two down here for? You do know that the governor is looking for them?"
"That's why I brought them," said Steuben. "I thought they might be useful."
"Dammit, Steuben, this is a complication we did not need!"
Irene, looking over at the rows of boxes and crates, gave a knowing nod.
"This stuff is all contraband, isn't it?" she asked.
"I'm not saying," said the man.
"By the way, who are you?" asked Kresge.
After a short hesitation the man replied. "I'm Daniel Gibbons."
"Gibbons?" said Irene. "You're the chief procurer for Doebermann's Specialties."
"How do you know that?"
"It's my job, Mr. Gibbons."
"I told you this was a mistake, Steuben!"
"Relax, Dan. I've heard a lot of good things about Kresge."
Kresge decided that direct action was the best course.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gibbons, are you in charge here?"
"Might as well call me, Dan," Gibbons replied, somewhat reluctantly. "I suppose I am in charge, at least these people are listening to me."
"We'd be more than happy to lend a hand anyway that we can," said Kresge. "Could you use some help?"
Again the man thought for a while before responding.
"I...I suppose so," he said, finally. "This is a little out of my league. I handle freight and inventory and...other things. I can't say I know much about what to do when we get invaded!"
"Steuben said someone down here could get the elevators back online."
"Yeah, you just need to use a master security card in any one of the elevators."
"Who has one of these cards?"
"Harvey Rothwell does. Why?"
"We need to get control of the elevators before the enemy does. How quickly can we get to each of those elevators, bring them down to this level and block the doors open so even someone with a card couldn't use them unless we wanted them to?"
"Maybe thirty seconds or so to get each elevator down, once we get to them. If we used maintenance carts to haul a couple of teams around the main corridor on this level, we could get them all within maybe twenty minutes."
"I really think we should do it," said Kresge.
"Steuben?"
"I was listening, Dan."
"You and Harvey take Maggie and Allison with you and get those elevators taken care of."
"Will do," said Steuben. "By the way, good thinking... Commander."
"There's hope for you yet, Steuben!" answered Kresge. He turned back to Gibbons as the four workers left to take control of the elevators. "Let's get a few things straight, Dan," said Kresge as Gibbons eyed him uncomfortably. "I am not the Law. I personally don't care what sort of business has been going on down here, but I need you to work with me if we're going to have any chance of meeting this threat."
Gibbons shook his head. "But you're with the Under-Secretary of Commerce! What do we do about her?"
Irene Marshall, a trained diplomat, was a master at smoothing ruffled feathers and handling difficult situations. Her professional instincts kicked in.
"We've known for some time that something like this was going on, Mr. Gibbons," she said, reasonably. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure myself how to respond to this situation. I'm not the Law either. Besides, I'd say that the station has bigger problems to deal with right now. Unless you're somehow involved with the people who attacked us, I say we concentrate on the threat they represen
t and sort this other...affair out later. Deal?"
Gibbons thought for a moment and shook his head before replying reluctantly. "Deal."
The black market kingpin did something that he would have thought beyond impossible just a few short hours ago: in the middle of his hidden warehouse, surrounded by stacks of illegal goods, he shook hands with the Under-Secretary of Commerce!
Chapter 17
UTFN Reclamation Center, Auxiliary Tracking Station, October 6, 2598.
As she had been instructed, Carlisle woke up Harris and Hawkins after four hours had passed. While the men blinked and stretched, she handed each of them a tube of food concentrate before grabbing one for herself, tearing off the seal and taking a long pull on the contents. Wearing a very determined look, she went over to the tracking station computer, sat down in front of it and began checking files. She also began to unconciously think out loud again.
"Succession War destroyers, Tamara...Fairmont, Osage, Terrier...battle damage reports..."
"What is it, Ensign?" asked Harris, yawning.
"Oh, sorry, Sir. I woke up about an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep, so I started running some options over in my head. We may be dead anyway, but I don't like the thought of just sitting here waiting for them to come and take us out. Could we pull the communications console out of here and be somewhere else when they get here? There's no way we can save this station, but maybe we could last long enough to warn the Ambassador's ship away."
"Aye, Lass, that we might," observed Hawkins. He took a pull on his food tube, went over to the communications console and looked beneath it, thankful that they hadn't bothered to replace the inspection panel yet. "The console be hooked up to the station controls only by the three wires I reconnected." He looked around some more. "There also be a cable that hooks up to the send/receive dish. All we have to be doin' is to be gettin' power to the console and be riggin' up some kind of dish." He looked around some more. "This top section be havin' all the workings and it looks like we could just be unboltin' it. I'll be thinkin' it would fit through the hatches if we wanted to be takin' it out of here. We could be loadin' it onto one of the Rovers and be hidin' out inside most any of these old wrecks. With what there be on the sled and what there be here in the auxiliary station, we be havin' plenty of air. In our suits we might be lastin' a week, maybe more."
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